East End Jubilee (19 page)

Anita grinned. ‘He starts immediately.’

‘Oh, Anita, that’s wonderful.’

‘They’ve taken him on part-time till he’s fifteen in October. He’ll be earning three pounds fifteen and six when he’s on full pay. Of course, I’ll take twenty
bob off him for his keep which I’ve informed him of immediately,’ Anita said dryly. ‘But listen, when Alan was up in the offices there, he spotted a board with a vacancy pinned up
on it. It was for a clerk.’

Rose felt her cheeks flush. ‘I couldn’t do that.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’m not experienced.’

‘You worked in a factory once. ’Course you’re experienced.’

Rose was filled with apprehension. A clerk’s job. A responsible position. She was just a housewife.

‘I’ve got to get Benny’s dinner early,’ Anita said then. ‘He’s driving to Devon and needs his belly filled first so I’ll have to shoot.’

‘Thanks, Neet. Is there anything you want at Joan’s?’

‘No, ta. Say hello to Em for me. And think about that job. They don’t come up all that often.’

As Rose walked back to the house, she could see Em through the kitchen window, head bent, a turban tied round it and her sleeves rolled up. She simply couldn’t relax. But perhaps it was
the only way she had of forgetting Arthur.

Rose lifted the empty washing basket and steadied the prop under the line. It was a good drying day with the promise of a real summer’s sun. The question was, did she have the courage to
apply for that job?

Rose had almost forgotten about the trouble at school, but on Monday morning when they arrived at the gates her eldest daughter’s face was all gloom.

‘What’s the matter, love? Don’t you feel well?’

‘I’ve got a tummy ache.’

‘Fibber,’ Marlene accused.

Donnie’s face flushed red. ‘Shut up, you.’

‘Donnie,’ Rose coaxed. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I feel sick.’

‘No you don’t, you’re frightened of Diane Balls,’ Marlene cried as she turned to stare through the railings. ‘There she is now, the old cow.’

‘
Marlene!
’ Rose exclaimed. ‘Watch your language.’

‘Couldn’t help it.’ Marlene squirmed, pulling a face. ‘It just popped out.’

‘Well, don’t let it pop out again.’ Rose patted her bottom. ‘Now off you go into the playground.’

‘Is Donnie coming?’

‘In a minute.’

Marlene slouched off, her red hair flaming as it always seemed to do when she was upset. What had gone on, Rose wondered, that she was ignorant of? Had something happened last week when
she’d been preoccupied with the burglary and Em’s arrival?

‘Now, pet, this isn’t like you.’ Rose noticed a girl with untidy brown hair in the playground was staring at them. ‘Is that Diane Balls?’

‘Don’t look, Mum.’

‘Why not?’

‘She’ll think I’m telling tales.’

‘Why should you tell tales?’

Donnie looked up under her long dark lashes. ‘Because she just does.’

‘I don’t recognize her.’ Rose peered over Donnie’s shoulder. ‘Is she a new girl?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why does she frighten you?’

‘Because she picks fights all the time.’ Donnie pursed her lips and tightened her hand firmly around Rose’s.

A fleeting memory of what it was like to be terrified out of her wits at school came back to Rose. Singled out for special attention by the class bully, she could remember the humiliation of the
walloping she’d suffered at St Joseph’s. She’d just started senior school and was small and thin for her age, indeed a head and shoulders smaller than Maggie O’Sullivan. But
her pride had sent her red-cheeked and fists flying into battle where she’d received a clobbering that had gone down in class history. After that, her pecking order rating had risen both for
her black eye and the few choice blows she had successfully landed into Maggie’s fat stomach. But now she searched Donnie’s gentle face and saw no such inner resource.

‘Did she pick a fight with you?’ Rose asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Donnie looked down at her shoes again. ‘Can I stay home?’

The whistle blew twice and the children filed into school. Rose wrestled with her conscience, wondering what she should do for the best, and weakened when she looked into her daughter’s
soft brown eyes. Had she, Rose, kept her child too close? Cosseted her, been overprotective?

Rose squeezed the tiny hand that seemed even smaller today. ‘Well, once isn’t going to hurt,’ she said at last, making up her mind, ‘but you must go to school
tomorrow.’

‘Diane said my dad was a jailbird,’ Donnie told her as they walked home.

‘Do you know what that means?’

‘It’s not very nice, is it?’

‘No, it’s not. It’s a bad expression for someone in prison. And I’m quite sure Diane has no idea what she’s talking about but using bad language that she’s
heard somewhere.’

Donnie looked up with huge brown eyes. ‘You mean it’s a bit like what Michael Curtis said about Daddy’s ball and chain.’

Rose hesitated. ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘And you must tell Miss Keene if it happens again.’

Donnie shook her head slowly. ‘That won’t do any good.’

‘Why won’t it?’

‘Because it wasn’t Miss Keene who stopped Michael saying nasty things. It was Marlene.’

Rose looked puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’

‘She told him she would ask Daddy to come round his house one night and throw his ball and chain through the window. And when he found Michael in bed he would murder him.’

‘She didn’t!’

‘She did.’

Rose was aghast. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Because Michael stopped bashing Marlene after that and now he’s even frightened of her.’

Rose was shocked that her youngest daughter had told such tales, but one thing was certain, Marlene employed the law of the jungle to resolve her problems and it had worked.

‘I couldn’t say that about Daddy to anyone,’ Donnie said haughtily.

‘I know, sweetheart.’

‘You’re not going to be cross with Marlene?’

‘No, not cross, but—’

‘Because she’ll know I’ve split on her.’

At home, Em was wearing a turban and polishing hard. She looked up when they walked in. ‘Donnie, aren’t you well?’

‘A bit of a tummy ache,’ Rose dismissed quickly. ‘Where’s Will?’

‘In the yard, learning his tables.’

‘Can I go out too?’ Donnie suddenly looked brighter. ‘We can test each other.’

Rose smiled. ‘All right, but change into old clothes first.’

Em looked mystified as Donnie ran up the stairs and Rose put her finger to her mouth. ‘I’ll tell you when she’s out,’ she whispered as they went into the kitchen and Em
discarded her duster for the kettle.

Five minutes later the tea was made and the two children were sitting outside in the sunshine, their books spread across their laps in front of them. Rose explained what had happened at school
as they drank the dark brown tea that tasted so much better, Rose decided, when brewed by Em.

‘Well, a day or two off won’t harm,’ Em said, echoing Rose’s thoughts.

‘No, but it’s all the other days I’m worried about.’

Em nodded sympathetically, her restless fingers running over the table as though attempting to clean it. ‘It happened to Will, too.’

‘Bullying, you mean?’ Rose asked in surprise. ‘But he goes to a private school – St Barnabus – doesn’t he?’

‘Private schooling doesn’t make any difference to bullies, in fact it’s probably worse,’ Em said as she plucked at her turban. ‘Will’s never been very strong
and always painfully thin. Then last year, when – well, when the rumours began—’Em shook and sniffed and twitched all at once. ‘Well, he got picked on.’

‘What did you do about it?’

Em lifted her chin and said in a high voice, ‘I took him out of school. Unofficially of course. In fact, we used to stay out as much as we could because I knew with all Arthur’s . .
. well,
trouble
, that I was better off out of the house.’

‘But where did you go?’

Em’s small chin tightened. ‘Everywhere. One day we’d catch the bus to Bexhill or Hastings or even Brighton. When it became too cold we would sit in the library or go to the
swimming baths.’

Rose sat in shocked silence. She didn’t understand, couldn’t understand the problems that caused such drastic action on her sister’s part, but each revelation seemed more
staggering than the last. Again a silence overtook them and this time Rose didn’t break it. If Em wanted to elaborate on what she now termed ‘Arthur’s trouble’ then now was
her opportunity. But she sat tight-lipped, her body taut, even the wisps of hair that escaped her turban, shivering a little.

Rose finished her tea. ‘Em, are you serious when you say you’d look after the girls?’

‘’Course I am.’

‘There’s a job going at Kirkwood’s.’

‘The building people?’

Rose explained what Anita had told her. ‘I don’t suppose I’d get it though. I don’t have the experience.’

But Em had already dispatched her cup to the sink. She pulled Rose from the chair. ‘Of course you have. You could type fifty words a minute at Horton’s in the war. Even I
couldn’t keep up with you. And you can take shorthand. There’s no reason you couldn’t do it all again with a bit of practice.’

Rose was bundled out of the kitchen. ‘But I’m not dressed up and me hair needs washing,’ she protested as she was pushed along the hallway. For once it was like old times, with
Em taking the lead and telling her what to do. Rose went upstairs still protesting and claiming she didn’t have the nerve to go after such a responsible job. But half an hour later she was
walking towards the docks.

Wearing the green dress that she’d visited Eddie in and with the wind lifting her long chestnut hair and despite the trouble at school, or possibly because of it, her spirit felt revived.
She loved seeing the docks in action again and hearing the cry of the gulls overhead as they mewed and swooped by the cranes that stood like sentries along the crowded waterfront. Rose noted the
abundance of forklift trucks on the dockside, an American idea now part of the English scenery, just as the roll-on, roll-off system had been inspired by the wartime shipments of tank landing craft
from the States. Lorries went directly on to the ships and out again at their ports of destination.

During the war Rose had watched the American influx from her window in Horton’s Engineering, which overlooked the docks. After the Yanks had entered the war, incensed by the carnage of
Pearl Harbor in 1941, Britain had become a changed country. She remembered how the glamorous GIs with their tailored uniforms and inexhaustible supply of cigarettes and stockings had wooed the
British women, drawing resentment from the poorly clad British rookies. But Rose only had eyes for her Eddie and thinking of him now in prison saddened her as she wandered along the waterfront.
They had survived the Blitz and everything else Adolf Hitler had to offer yet now he was separated from his family and all because of that bloody telly!

Rose deliberately turned her attention to the noisy, trundling and often filthy lorries that arrived to unload and collect their goods on the docks. She was determined to concentrate on her
mission and, dodging several big vehicles that turned towards the wharfside building that belonged to Kirkwood’s Construction, she asked herself once more if she really had the nerve to apply
for this job.

But before she had decided on the answer, a booming voice stopped her dead. ‘Watch where you’re walking, love!’

A big man in a cap and dungarees waved a clipboard at her. ‘It ain’t very safe around here for pedestrians,’ he shouted gruffly.

‘I’m looking for Kirkwood’s offices,’ she told him, realizing she had almost stepped in front of a lorry as she’d been thinking of Eddie.

‘Up there.’ He gestured to the staircase built on the outside of the warehouse. ‘But watch how you go, it’s steep.’

She thanked him and made her way carefully up the reinforced wooden steps, holding tightly to the wooden handrail. At the very top she paused to stare over the river and her breath was taken
once more. Ships of all kinds were moored on either side of the Thames, some even laying two and three abreast, disgorging or loading their cargoes one by one. Vast new sheds had been erected to
house the goods and the smell of tar and timber was as inebriating as alcohol.

Just as unique as the smell of burning oil and petrol was during the war. Despite the daily terrors of the bombing she had been happy working in the armaments factory and loved the atmosphere of
them and us, the feeling of real comradeship as the nation rallied against invasion. Rose inhaled and a little shiver of pleasure trickled along her spine. No one had thought the island would ever
look like this again.

‘Just look at it now,’ Rose breathed wonderingly, amazed and delighted as she hovered on the small, windy landing feasting her eyes.

She gave a deep sigh and turned back to the small wooden door in front of her. ‘Time to sort the men from the boys,’ she told herself as she pushed it open and walked inside.

It was the noise that surprised her the most. Big, clattering typewriters pounded away, the heads of the women who operated them all bent as they struggled to keep the mountains of paperwork in
order.

No one looked up, even when the draught she let in rattled through the office. Rose looked for the board that Alan had seen. But before she had time to search all the walls that seemed crammed
with every conceivable size of notice, a young woman with short fair hair and spectacles walked towards her. ‘Can I help you?’

Rose went red. ‘I’ve come to apply for the job,’ she mumbled, wishing now she had pinned her hair up and worn a nice white blouse and dark skirt just as this smart young woman
had. ‘A clerk’s vacancy?’ she added, clearing her throat.

‘Oh, that one,’ the girl shouted above the clack of typewriters. ‘It’s gone I’m afraid. Went almost immediately.’

Rose couldn’t hide her disappointment. ‘Oh, what a pity.’

The girl frowned, removing her spectacles to trap one end thoughtfully between her neat little teeth. ‘Are you experienced, then?’

Rose had already decided on her answer for this. ‘I worked as a typist at Horton’s during the war.’